


Music When the Lights Go Out

by stjimmyjazz



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjimmyjazz/pseuds/stjimmyjazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You always hurt the one you love, the one you shouldn't hurt at all. So If I broke your heart last night, it's because I love you most of all." They've always been the model couple, the one their friends compare themselves to. But ten years down the road, Kurt and Blaine have lost sight of each other and their marriage is left crumbling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“God fucking damnit!” Kurt slams his fist down on the marble of kitchen counter, a dull bang cutting through the room. “It’s always the same conversation, Blaine.”

"Well then why don't you hire someone for Christ's sake?" shouts Blaine from across the kitchen. His face is a deep shade of red and the vein in his forehead ticked steadily. "It's not like we don't have the money Kurt. If it’s that fucking important to you, just get it done!"

"It's the principle of the matter, and you know it. You've been saying for months that you’ll save a weekend for this and you keep backing out of it like a goddamn-"

"You know what work is like right now!" Blaine cuts in, sounding just slightly hysterical. "You know that I'm-"

"Excuse me?" a new voice interrupts. Both men stop immediately and turn to the source. Six-year-old Amelia stands at the threshold of the kitchen watching them calmly, her pajamas wrinkled and her brown hair sleep tousled. Guilt overwhelms Kurt: they've succeeded once again in waking their daughter. A quick glance over to his husband and Kurt knows by the pained expression on his face and the chewing on his lip that the same thoughts are running through Blaine's mind.

Satisfied that she's caught their attention, Amelia continues, huffy and annoyed. "I just want to remind you that I have school in the morning and need my beauty rest."

Sometimes Kurt curses the fact that she's more perceptive than most at her age. When he was her age and heard his parents fighting at night, little Kurt cowered in his room, kept awake all night by their shouting. A child should never be so used to, so familiar with, their parents arguing that they feel the need to break it up. But here she is again to put him and Blaine in their place.

Blaine's the first to recover. "Sorry hun," he said, voice a tad hoarse from his shouting.

"Do you want us to put you back to bed?" Kurt asks her. They watch her consider it for a moment, practically able to see the wheels turning in her head.

Amelia shakes her head finally. "No, I can do it myself." She clutches her beat-up stuffed dog to her side; she’d had it since she was born and refused to sleep without it.

"Okay," Blaine says.  "We're sorry we woke you up."

Kurt echoes the sentiment before watching Amelia shuffle up the stairs and back to her bedroom. There's a few moments of silence while both men wait for the familiar sound of her door clicking shut. When a faint snap is finally heard, the bubble of tension in the kitchen bursts.

Blaine slumps down into a chair at the table and buries his head in his hands. His face is ashy and a light sheen of sweat has formed on his brow. "At least we didn't wake up Aidan this time," he said, quietly and more to himself than his husband. The last time they had fought, they had woken their three-year-old son who proved harder to lull back to sleep than his older sister. Kurt rips his gaze away and turns to the sink. There are a few dishes leftover from dinner that couldn't fit in their dishwasher sitting at the bottom. He momentarily considers washing them; he needs something, anything, to distract him.

"I'm sorry," comes Blaine's quiet apology from across the room. His voice cracks a little bit on the tail end. "You were right- are right. I've been making excuses and-"

"Stop." There would have been a time in high school when he would have reveled in being told he was in the right. Hell, there would have been a time less than five years ago when he would have reveled in the same thing. But not now. “It’s late," he sighs.

**

The lights are turned down low when Kurt finds himself shifting through the closet in the den for the spare blankets they keep inside.

Blaine was in earlier trying to convince Kurt to come to bed. It’s very much their post-argument ritual: they fight, one of them would choose to sleep on the couch for the night, and the other would attempt to change the other's mind. Try as they may, it always ended the same way. It didn’t matter what they were fighting about; they fought over everything now, hardly able to remember why they started in the first place.

But it hadn't always been this way. Married at twenty-one, they lived in relative bliss for years. Sure, they had their problems and their fights just like every couple, but in their minds they had already been through so much worse. The nights of television marathons, making pasta in their underwear, and the deep connection that they had fought for made their lives and their relationship worthwhile.

Finding the blankets and after depositing them on the couch, Kurt makes his way down the hall and into the half bathroom. He’s just going to rinse his face off and then go straight to sleep; it’s already well past three in the morning and he’ll have to get up in a few hours for work. Really though, it’s becoming all too common an occurrence.

Massaging the cool water into his skin, Kurt’s fingers feel the lines beginning to form around his eyes. At thirty-one they’re hardly terrible, but they’re certainly present. Sixteen-year-old self be damned, Kurt doesn’t actually mind aging all too much. He’s certainly handling it better than Blaine is. Blaine who had found his first gray hair at the age of twenty-three and immediately rushed to the nearest pharmacy for a bottle of hair dye. Despite the physical changes, time actually had been quite good to them.

Road bumps notwithstanding, by the age of twenty-one, they knew it was time to settle down. Their friends constantly teased that the two were basically married anyway, so what was holding them back? Long engagements were nice, but the ultimate goal was always marriage. Three months after Kurt’s birthday, they wed. Kurt and Blaine had opted for a much smaller wedding than they originally imagined. It was perfect: their friends and family that had scattered across the states came to New York for the weekend, the weather cooperated, and the bakery actually pulled through and delivered their cake on time.

The transition from boyfriends to husbands- _husbands!_ \- had been trying initially: combining bank accounts, the confusing legal matters to wade through, finally finding their own place- it was a lot to deal with on top of a wedding. There had been moments when they didn’t think it was worth it; the arguments and the mounting stress threatened to pull them apart completely. Not to mention the transition between broken up, boyfriends, and then fiancés came in such rapid succession they hardly had any time to wrap their heads around it.

But the first night in their miniscule Alphabet City apartment as husbands, they knew it had been worth all the anxiety and headaches along the way. Sweat still drying on their skin, sheets pooled at their hips, Blaine's head tucked into the crook of his husband's neck, Kurt never felt more contented with his life than in that very moment.

Kurt shuts the light off in the bathroom and makes his way back to the den. He plops down on the couch and throws the blankets over his tired body. At least the couch is comfortable. He nestles his tired head back into the pillows, the dull pound of a headache throbbing behind his eyes. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock fills the silence. He found that clock years ago, at a street fair in Brooklyn, and it was one of the few objects from the Bushwick loft that he still carries with him. It’s a poor substitute for the steady beating of Blaine's heart that he’d grown so accustomed to, and to the quiet snuffling snore that Blaine always has when he sleeps.

Rolling over, Kurt presses his face into the back cushions and let the sounds of the city, far away as they were on the seventh floor, lull him to sleep.

The clinking of porcelain on marble gradually pulls Kurt out of his fitful sleep. The smell of brewing coffee washes over him, the faint hiss and pop of something cooking on the stove and the quiet murmuring of his husband's voice and their daughter’s whispered replies bring him to sit up and rub sleep from his eyes. He's not ready to face Blaine just yet.

They've just gotten so used to this relentless process; after a night spent alone in bed, one of them would go out of their way with breakfast. There's really no reason for omelets and pancakes on a Tuesday morning, but it's the silent code of an apology that has become the new normal. Once Kurt's done washing his face, he's going to grab Aidan out of his room, and they'll all sit down and pretend that last night never happened.

As they all sit down at the table, they’ll look like the picture-perfect family.

It's a lie.

But it's what to be expected now.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Skin slaps harshly against skin; the headboard knocks occasionally against the wall, complemented by the rustling of the bedding.

It’s perfunctory. The passion that once kept them entangled for hours, writhing and panting into each other’s skin, is lacking. Really, it’s just the performance of another bodily function.

Kurt’s up on his knees, hands planted on Blaine’s hips, moving and adjusting him when Kurt needs to. His mind’s wandering elsewhere, the bills he has to tackle later, how the babysitter will be dropping the kids back home soon, the endless list.

He leans forward, pressing a hand between Blaine’s shoulder blades. Blaine falls forward gently, chest pressed to the mattress, face buried into one of the pillows. The afternoon light streaming in from the window falls white and dusty across the expanse of Blaine’s back, accentuating the knobs on his spine. How long had it been since Kurt spent hours mapping out each and every centimeter of that skin with his lips and tongue?

Kurt’s orgasm starts to creep up on him, he speeds up his thrusts as he gets closer, breaths still coming in steady inhales and exhales through his nostrils. He grinds into Blaine and finally comes. It’s as anticlimactic as the sex itself.

He pulls out and slumps on his side on to the bed. Blaine flops down completely next to him.

Head clear, Kurt sits up, fully intent to at least get Blaine to come. He at least owes it to his husband.

“Turn over.” Kurt nudges at Blaine’s hips. When he finally complies, Kurt’s a little disappointed to see Blaine’s completely soft.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine pants. Kurt’s eyes slowly roam up over Blaine’s body. There’s no telltale smear of pearly come anywhere. He probably never got hard in the first place. Shit.

They’re not even trying anymore. Sure, they always had problems, every couple does. But even if they weren’t communicating, they’d always been on the same page when it came to sex. Kurt and Blaine had spent their twenties learning each and every intimate detail of each other’s bodies, until they could pull every ounce of pleasure without a second thought.  Now even that connection was failing. And maybe it was Kurt’s fault. Or maybe Blaine’s just become indifferent and uninterested in him.

A hacking cough snaps Kurt’s attention back to Blaine. Blaine, who’s still lying, twisted limbed, on his back. He’s not panting anymore, but his breathing is heavier than what it should be, his face reddened, eyes clamped shut.

“Are you okay?” Kurt says, brow furrowed in concern.

It’s a moment before Blaine answers. “Fine.”

Kurt doesn’t force the matter. If Blaine doesn’t want to tell him anything anymore, then fine. He’s not going to force him. They’re both grown men, after all.

As Kurt stands to pull on his pants, he leaves Blaine behind in bed alone.

**

Kurt's at the table, typing away. Blaine's at the kitchen sink, loading up the dishwasher from dinner. The house is quiet- the kids out with their Auntie Rachel for the evening. It’s been unusually peaceful for the past few days. Maybe now they’re just two people living- no inhabiting- a shared space, resigned to the facts.

“Did you get the forwarded email the airline sent you?” Kurt breaks the silence.

Blaine leans down to start sorting the cutlery. “I saw it, but haven't had a chance to read it yet. Care to give me the highlights?”

Kurt nods, and starts reading from the screen before him. “Three seats, so we'll have to swap Aidan between us.”

“Amelia will want the window,” says Blaine. “I don't mind the aisle. I know you hate the drink cart hitting you in the elbow.”

It’s weird really. They’ve been together so long that such details don’t even bring up a debate. Blaine’s always been considerate like that. “Thanks. It's an early flight, 9:05. We'll have to get there at 7:30 at the latest.”

“Why so early?”

“Best deal. Plus we'll have all of that Tuesday to spend with Dad and Carole,” Kurt says. He switches back to the work emails he had been checking. The fact that all the noise from the other side of the kitchen stopped didn’t even register to him.

“You mean that Wednesday, right?” Blaine asks, quietly, cautiously, as if he had misheard.

Kurt’s attention is finally brought back to Blaine who stands at the sink, hands still soapy and dripping.  “No. The flight's on Tuesday morning.”

Blaine grits his teeth, jaw clenched, and hangs his head. He exhales, his words are careful and measured, tone in check. “I told you I can’t take off Wednesday. It’s a half day, but I have to be there.”

Kurt’s eyes narrow. “You never told me that.”

“I told you the moment we decided to go out to Ohio for Christmas,” Blaine states. He’s losing control of his voice, frustration dripping into his words. “You were sitting right there at the table and I said ‘Kurt, just remember that I cant miss rehearsal that Tuesday? Can we try and catch an evening flight?’ And you said that you’d see what you could do.”

“Bullshit.” Kurt’s defensive walls are up and reinforced. He has no recollection of that conversation. Blaine could just be making it up to get out of his own mistake. Kurt would have remembered such a simple request, wouldn’t he have? “You never said that. I would have remembered and I would have made adjustments.”

Blaine turns his back on Kurt, an angry growl ripping from his chest. “I can’t believe we're still having this problem after all these years.”

“What problem?”

“You don’t listen to me!”

Fan-fucking-tastic. They’re right back where they were when Kurt first moved to the city. Blaine’s blowing the whole situation out of proportion. “Great, are you going to cheat on me again?” It falls from Kurt’s lips without any thought or consideration. Shit.

Blaine shuts up immediately, expression and body crumpling, deflating. His arms cross in front of his chest.  His back is still firmly turned to Kurt, but there are fine tremors running through him that Kurt can see from across their kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, biting his lip.

His response is quiet, defeat evident. “You know I wouldn’t.”

Kurt wants to stand and wrap Blaine up in his arms, protect him from all the doubts running through his mind. He wants Blaine to tuck his head right into the crook of his own neck.

Instead, Kurt stays seated and says, “No, no, I don’t think you would. Ever.”

Blaine’s arms fall and rest on the countertop. His grip is tight, the whites of his knuckles evident. “Well, you’re clearly still holding that against me.”

Kurt sighs. He hates that when they fight his filter completely disappears. He wishes he could bite his tongue more and let their fights end.

“I forgave you for that years ago. If I hadn’t forgiven you, do you really think I would have taken you back? That we would have gotten married, and-”

“-Can you just stop?” Blaine interrupts. He’s trying to rub the tension out of his neck. There was once a time after they argued that Kurt would run a bath for the both of them. Blaine would settle in between his legs in the hot water, and Kurt would knead out the knots in Blaine’s shoulders and neck. Relaxed and fight forgotten, they’d move, still dripping to the bedroom, the hints of laughter alight in their eyes.  “I just…. Please drop it.”

Blaine sighs and goes back to the dishes. Normally, Kurt would turn back to his computer, content to let it all be swept under the rug. But he needs to try, right?

“I really am sorry,” Kurt says.

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not. I don’t think you’d ever do that to me again-”

“Seriously, just drop it,” Blaine snaps. “I don’t want to talk about cheating or the airline or anything. Just stop it.”

**

There’s going to be no mature conversation, talking to each other like adults. If Blaine’s apparently given up, then Kurt’s not going to try any more.

He ran away after he just couldn’t handle the kitchen anymore. Blaine’s stuttered, clearly angered movements and refusal to talk made it impossible to sit there. With some bullshit comment about needing milk, Kurt saw himself out of the apartment and on the street.

When he first moved to the city, Kurt enjoyed just walking, meandering around without a direction. At first, it was a way to learn his neighborhood. Once he mastered that, he continued his little walks. They did wonders for his mind, really. He’d clear his thoughts, the physical movement making him feel like he was actually progressing in some kind of mental direction.

More often than not, he now used these walks to get away from the toxic atmosphere of his own home.

Growing up, Kurt would see pictures of Christmastime in New York City and was absolutely enamored by the beauty of it all; much of course like his adoration of the city in general. That first Christmas, when it was just him and Rachel living all the way out in Bushwick, it was hard to amend the reality to the dream. It was a lot like Lima in some regards: the really populated, business areas were decked out for all to see, but the more residential areas lacked a good portion of the holiday spirit. It was almost a bit disappointing really.

But as he grew into adulthood, Kurt learned how, if one looked for it, Christmas is found even in the grungiest parts of the city.  It was the college student who actually pulled out their wallet to place a couple of bills into a homeless woman’s cup, or a family on the seventh floor that decorated their balcony with twinkling lights, or when a crowd of grade schoolers got on the bus in the afternoon and burst into an obnoxious carol.

Milk in hand, Kurt stops in the middle of the sidewalk a block from the apartment. He’d been avoiding this corner, and many corners like it for a while, especially with the kids. Since they had decided to go to Ohio, there had been no need to get a Christmas tree this year. But there was something about the row of evergreens, the strong scent of pine wafting from them, that Kurt just couldn’t help. He walked up and down the church courtyard, taking in tree after tree of all shapes and sizes, considering them. He and Blaine certainly hadn’t been putting any effort into the season this year. The kids deserved a normal holiday, right?

The logical part of his brain kicks in before he commits to the majestic, eight-foot Douglas Fir he had his eye on. They weren’t going to be around the city much longer, and how would he, completely by himself, be able to get it home on his own? And he was pretty sure their ceilings weren’t tall enough.

He settles on a tiny little thing, though.  It’s barely two feet tall and he’ll have to get creative on the lights and the skirt to go around the bottom.  But it’ll help bring a bit of cheer to the apartment. The kids will love it, probably even more because it is so tiny. And Blaine. Blaine will probably bite the inside of his cheek, and smile that pained little smile he’s been giving so often lately. The one that says ‘I don’t agree with this, but I’ll shut up because it means a lot to the kids.’

**

They rent a car for a few hours so Blaine can take them to the airport without having to traverse the subway at the crack of dawn with luggage and two bleary-eyed children.

Kurt fishes their tickets out of his carry-on as Blaine bends down to place a kiss on top of Amelia's head. He squeezes her tightly to his chest, hugging her as if his life depended on it. Maybe it does. Maybe Blaine's figured out the state of their marriage for himself. Maybe he thinks she and her brother are the only reason that they're still married.

Maybe that is the case.

When they can't wait any longer to go through security, they stand and face each other. Automatically, Kurt and Blaine lean in, simultaneously pressing a kiss to each other's cheeks. It's all rehearsed. It's all for the show.

They're both actors, so they know how the show must go on.

Hoisting Aidan onto his hip, Kurt takes Amelia by the hand and leads them through the line. He doesn't look back over his shoulder for that last look at his husband, standing by waving as his family leaves.

Blaine should be on that plane with them. But if he's not willing to make sacrifices, Kurt’s not about to go out of his way to pick up the slack.

They land safely in Ohio just a few hours later. They make a stop at baggage claim, Kurt hauling the luggage off the belt all by himself. Amelia takes her little brother by the hand when she realizes that Kurt’s struggling to do everything alone. They toddle along slowly, but finally they've reached the pick-up area.

And right there, just like every single other trip back to Ohio, Burt Hummel stands, one among the many assembled, but sticking out of the crowd to Kurt.

When they get into the house, it's a flurry of excitement as Carole comes in, sweeps up the children and takes them away for her special brand of grandmotherly love. Or perhaps it was the mother in her that just knew Kurt needs to be with his father.

The house hasn't changed in any remarkable sense since Kurt officially moved out of the house. And Kurt’s not complaining at all. There's sometime nice and timeless about going back to his fathers house, and finding it in the same condition it was years ago. It's like a museum. Unchanged, a snapshot of who they all were almost two decades ago.

That didn't mean there wasn't a certain hurt in any of those memories. When he tucked his daughter into Finn's old bed, the scent of his brother long washed out from the sheets; when they unboxed all the old Christmas ornaments, and he'd find his mother’s old favorites, they all hurt just a little bit.

This year is more like a constant dull ache. It doesn't help that he has so many memories of Blaine in this house that there is literally no place he can go without being reminded of his husband.

House now empty of children and noise, Kurt helps his father putting together a quick and easy lunch for the both of them.

"Shame that Blaine couldn’t make it in earlier today," Burt says.

"Yeah, well. His flight gets in tonight," Kurt replies, slicing up the head of lettuce a little too violently.

Burt nods. "You gonna pick him up?" He’s waiting for Kurt to say something, but really Kurt has yet to decide that matter for himself. Honestly, Blaine could make his own way to Lima. "Or would you like me to if you and Carole have plans for tomorrow?"

"We’ll play it by ear I think," he finally says, an air of finality to the statement. Kurt can’t hide from his father; Burt knows him well enough to know when he needs to get something off his chest. It’s a maddening fact, but he’s understanding fatherhood with each and every passing day with his own children. They work in silence for a moment.

Burt breaks it first. "How are you guys doing?"

“We're fine," he snaps.

"Alright," Burt says lightly, not pushing.

Kurt suddenly breaks. "Okay, fine. But you can’t tell Blaine, okay?"

"Sure thing."

"Dad, I’m serious. You can’t even hint at it." Burt’s waiting for him. Kurt will get there, he will, but he needs to do it himself. Any insistence from his father,or anyone really, and Kurt would just bottle it up for good. He’s still wrapping his own mind around the matter. Finally, Kurt starts again, slowly.

"Blaine and I are having... problems. Like relationship problems."

The small frown and raised eyebrow betrays Burt’s confusion. "Is this like a sex thing?" Burt asks, slowly, taking the situation seriously, even if Kurt’s not giving him all the details. "Cuz I'll tell you what I can, but-"

"-No,” Kurt stops him.  “Like, I think he and I need some kind of break." There. In one rushed huff, it's out in the open. Or at least the open of the Hummel kitchen, and only between Kurt and his father.

Burt stops, shocked, but remaining calm. Kurt stands, square shouldered before his father, waiting, lips tights.

"Damn, Kurt."

Kurt deflates and leans against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest, guarding himself. Or holding himself together. He’s not really sure which it is right now.

"And you haven’t mentioned this to him at all?" Burt continues.

Kurt shakes his head no.

"How do you think he’s gonna take it?"

"He’s going to be absolutely crushed," Kurt says, quietly and more to the floor than his dad. "But he has to know that there’s something wrong with us; we’re always fighting. If its not one thing, it’s another."

"Are you sure that this is the answer? A break or a...." Burt can't even formulate the word. It’s unthinkable. Not for Kurt and Blaine. Not everyone’s apparent ideal couple. Ever since all those years ago, they'd been almost the picture perfect couple. Ultimately on the same page on almost everything. Kurt picks up on what his father means.

"Not a divorce. Never. But we need at least some time to step back and figure things out."

Burt stands next to his son. He’s never been a man to shy away from physical affection, and Kurt knows that. But that doesn’t mean it all came easy to them. Now that they're both well into adulthood, Burt’s got a decent handle on what Kurt needs. He knows when Kurt needs his daddy’s hugs, even after all these years. He knows when Kurt wants to be treated as an equal, a grown man in his own right.  

Right now it's a weird gray area, and Kurt knows that. It’s such an adult problem, but he wants, needs, everyone to think he has the situation under control.  

His father steps closer to Kurt, and puts a hand on his shoulder. He opens his mouth, hesitating, and the words seem to abort themselves before they’re fully formed. Kurt understands. He’s just dropped a bombshell into his dad’s lap and, really, what can anyone say to that? And Kurt’s not making it easier for Burt; he’s not exactly asking for advice, but he wants his dad to have the answers to all his problems still. Kurt is an adult, hell, Kurt has his own kids, but he sometimes he misses being a little boy. He misses how whenever the world showed him some kind of injustice, he could just curl his little fingers around the first couple of Burt's thicker, rougher digits and give Kurt all the answers.

Burt starts as well as he can. "You’re my son, bud. I’m always gonna be your biggest supporter, but you know that Blaine means a lot to me too."

Kurt nods vigorously.

"I do. I’m so glad he does," Kurt says. Of course he understands where Burt is coming from. And that's probably the worst part, honestly. It would be so easy if Kurt could just get his family on his side. But his family is Blaine’s family too. It’s been that way for years, and no one’s going to take sides. "We're going to need our family."

Burt continues, "I don’t know what to tell you. You guys don’t tell me that much about your marriage. I just figured that you’ve been together this long, everything must be  okay, you know?"

"I understand," Kurt says. "And I know were both going to put on brave faces for everyone this week. But I guess I needed to tell someone." Kurt can already feel an throb of a headache forming behind his eyes at the thought of all the smiles, Christmas joy and enthusiasm he’ll have to fake this week.  

Burt slides this arm around Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt leans into his father’s side.

"He's my soulmate," Kurt says, and that's the part the hurts the most. Kurt's not sure if soulmates are an actual _thing_ , no matter what Blaine says, but he certainly knows that some people just get each other better than others. It’s the best word for what they are. For as long as they've known each other, Kurt and Blaine seem to have had an understanding of one another better than anyone else. Always on the same page, even when they were just friends, even when they had broken up.

"You're both still human," Burt says, stringing his words together carefully, "And it's hard making things like this work sometimes. Just ‘cause you're meant to be doesn’t mean it’s easy."

They stand like that for a while, lunch long forgotten. "Thank you," Kurt says finally, quietly. There’s nothing solved here, and nothing was ever going to be fixed. This is a matter between Kurt and Blaine. It’s just nice to have an impartial ear sometimes.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There’s something about going back to Ohio. For lack of a better word, it’s just _nice._ There’s an ease to returning to his father’s home, the place that he grew up, and bringing his own family back with him that’s relaxing and nostalgic. Perhaps it’s because for the first eighteen years of his life, Kurt spent all of his energy on getting out of Ohio, that he can only really appreciate it now when he experiences it in bits and pieces once or twice a year.  

They go back to the same Christmas tree farm that they’ve gone to since before Kurt could remember; he lets Amelia run through the rows, picking out the best tree for them to bring home and decorate. They pull box after box of ornaments from the attic and decorate the house. Kurt even hides the kids’ gifts from Santa in the same hall closet that Burt used to use for the same purpose.

He’s all caught up in making a gingerbread house with his daughter, when Carole gently reminds him that Blaine’s flight should be arriving in a couple of hours, and shouldn’t be be on his way to the airport?

At first, Kurt is floored that the day had passed by as quickly as it has. Replacing that, is an almost immediate irritation that Blaine never called him, never confirmed that he was boarding the plane and on his way. It wasn’t like him, even when they were fighting. Perhaps this is a new tactic Blaine’s trying out, just trying to grate on Kurt’s patience even further. Kurt is snappy and argumentative with his father on the drive to the airport.

Blaine’s flight arrives, thankfully, on time, despite the hectic rush that is the Columbus airport on Christmas Eve Day. Kurt stands with his father, right where they stood the day before, in the mass of people, all waiting on loved ones.

There’s no ebb or flow to the mass of people streaming through the gates, and it’s kind of difficult to pick any one person out of the crowd, but Kurt likes to think that he’s always been automatically drawn to Blaine. There had been one time, a year or so after their wedding, when Kurt had been rushing through the Union Square subway station during rush hour, transferring to the Brooklyn-bound L train. For some inexplicable reason, he stopped himself and waited a moment, looking around, confused. Just as he was about to start walking again, there was Blaine, moving faster than usual, coming down the walkway to the same train Kurt had been heading towards. Kurt waited for his husband to catch up, took his hand and they made their way home together.  

Kurt misses times like that. Now, he feels like they could be sitting next to each other on the train, and no one would know that they knew each other, let alone that they had been married just over ten years.

They wait on Blaine for nearly forty-five minutes when Kurt finally pulls out his cell phone.

He’s immediately redirected to Blaine’s voicemail. It’s the same one he’s had for years; Kurt’s had it memorized for just as long.

Kurt sighs. “ It’s me. I haven't actually heard from you since yesterday afternoon. You could have at least texted me. We're waiting at the terminal for you. Call me. Let me know if you've missed your flight or something.”

They wait in the same place for hours. They see hundreds of weary travelers reunite with their friends and family, from understated, quiet hugs and kisses, to all-out, running towards one another, parting the crowds, and flinging themselves into each other’s arms.

Both Kurt and Burt check with the travel agents separately for information about Blaine’s flight. They can confirm that the plane did land on time, but they can’t release the itinerary to see if Blaine was actually on the flight. Other flights from New York have landed in Columbus, so they can rule out Blaine catching a later one.

Kurt goes back and forth from calling Blaine’s cell phone, to calling their friends and coworkers for any word on his husband. No one has. The phone’s battery eventually dies, so he persists on his father’s with similar luck.

Even though he’s irritated and frustrated, there’s a nagging worry at the back of Kurt’s mind. No matter how angry they’ve been at each other in the past, even if they weren’t talking to each other, this just isn’t like Blaine. He knows that Kurt worries, so Blaine keeps him in the loop. And the anger that Kurt’s been harboring towards his husband for the past few days, weeks really, is slowly dissipating and being replaced by a wriggling nausea in his stomach.

It’s well past dinner time when Burt finally rests his hand on Kurt’s shoulder and steers him towards the exit. There’s nothing else they can do at the moment except go home and wait for Blaine to call them.

Later that night, after the kids have left out their cookies for Santa, after they’ve opened the traditional one present on Christmas Eve, and have been tucked into bed, Kurt pulls out their presents and places them under the tree. Amelia and Aidan whine incessantly about actually going to sleep, far too excited for the promise of Christmas morning, but as soon as he reads the first few pages of their bedtime story, Aiden’s eyes slide shut and he’s out like a light. Amelia’s always been just a little bit harder to get to sleep, and she lasts until the very end of the book. He kisses her forehead goodnight, she finally asked the question that they all had. Where was her Daddy and was he going to be there in the morning, and if he wasn’t, could they still open presents?

“I think he’s helping Santa out tonight,” Kurt made up on the spot. “You know, with the presents and stuff.” She was sad that Blaine wasn’t here yet, but there was no reason to alarm her or her brother. He loves them way too much to cause any unnecessary worry. At the back of his mind, he knows Blaine would agree on that as well. No matter where they stand in their own relationship, at least Kurt knows he and Blaine will always agree on their children. It’s been a tough road with them for sure; burgeoning careers on the stage hardly makes having children easy, but at twenty-four years old, they decided they were ready. Maybe it hadn’t been the right choice. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Kurt thinks in the very back, most private part of his mind, that they weren’t ready for children then, and maybe still aren’t ready now, that they hadn’t spent enough time as husbands first. He stops this train of thought before it goes any further. No matter what, he will never regret his daughter and son. Ever.  

“Well. If he’s with Santa right now, he’d better make sure I get everything on my list,” she replies, placated for the time being.

Just because the kids shouldn’t be worried about their father, doesn’t mean the Kurt isn’t officially concerned.

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, to find it missing. He digs around all the other pockets quickly, almost frantically, before remembering that he left it next to the couch when they got back that evening. Cursing himself, he goes to retrieve it, turning it back on finally. What if he had called? What if he was stranded in the airport?

There's five missed calls and a few text messages. None are from Blaine.

He feels claustrophobic in the house. He needs to get out.

Taking his phone and a hot mug of coffee along, Kurt heads outside to the attached patio. There's a bit of snow on the ground from a couple of days ago, and it still lays relatively undisturbed. It's quiet; too late for anyone to be out and about at the moment. His breath mists on every exhale; Kurt can almost feel the next snowfall coming in his bones.

Coffee still in hand, Kurt clicks the icon for his voicemail, starting with the most recent from a number he doesn't recognize.

"Hello," trills a tired voice through the speaker. "This is Donna from the Langone Medical Center Following up with  Mr. Kurt Hummel-Anderson. If you could give us a call at your earliest convenience, we would greatly appreciate it."

Why would he be getting a call from one of the NYU hospitals right now? The kids are all up to date on their shots, he has absolutely no memory of any missed appointments.

Unless....

"Yes, hello," says a new voice for the second message.  "I'm looking for Kurt Hummel-Anderson. This is NYU Langone Medical. We tried contacting you earlier in regards to Blaine Hummel-"

Kurt can't skip to the next message fast enough.

Shit.

"This is a message for Kurt Hummel-Anderson. Earlier this afternoon, Blaine Hummel-Anderson was admitted to the Langone Medical Center. This number is listed as his emergency contact in his file-"

The phone slips from his hand before he can hear the rest of the message, landing on the icy porch with a dull thunk.

He falls back to the porch swing behind him, coffee spills across the untouched snow.

There was one night, back before they were married, when they still shared a corner of the Bushwick loft, right after Blaine had moved to the city. Kurt worked his shift in the evenings and was used to coming home late at night, and had grown used to their neighborhood. It wasn’t as rough as it seemed, close enough to the young, affluence of Williamsburg to be safe. But that didn’t mean that well after dark it couldn’t be a tad dangerous to move around by oneself. Kurt had taken it upon himself to go out of his way to make sure that Rachel, and later Santana, had company on their short walk home. It didn’t last long, the girls growing more and more comfortable traversing the city on their own. But he always worried about them. It was the three of them against the whole city, with only each other to fall back on.

When Blaine moved in, he was brought into the same regimen. Tell someone, usually Kurt, when he was on his way home at night, and check in later to make sure he got home alright. For someone like Blaine, who was just thrown into a completely new environment with only a few trips to New York under his belt, it was an important task that put Kurt’s mind at ease when he was stuck late in class or at work.

One late night, on a rare off evening when Kurt had the loft to himself, he got the message that Blaine was on his way home from class and waited the forty minutes for his fiance. An hour past, but Kurt wasn’t exactly worried: the trains always moved slowly this time of night. An hour and a half in, he started texting.

Two hours in, he started calling.

Nearly three hours after Blaine said he would be home, there was a dull, sluggish knock on the loft door. On his feet, Kurt threw the door open, to find Blaine standing in front of him, coat ripped at the sleeve, missing his satchel, more than just a little roughed up, and apologizing profusely.

He had missed his stop on the train and gotten off a few block down the line. Instead of waiting for the next train, Blaine had opted to walk back to the apartment, and had been jumped in one of the rougher neighborhoods. They took his bag, his wallet, and his phone. He couldn’t stop saying that he was sorry for being late, sorry for keeping Kurt awake and worried. Kurt took Blaine up in his arms and shushed him. They could replace the phone, the money, and everything else, but it wasn’t like he could replace Blaine.

“Thank you for making it home alright,” Kurt said, fighting off the shaking in his words.

Kurt wakes violently in the morning by the happy shrieks of this kids running down the hallway. He’s sticky with drying sweat, his shirt clinging to his body uncomfortably. He needs to change, maybe negotiate a shower before the kids can start tearing through their presents, and he desperately needs some coffee.

He finally makes it down to the kitchen, where Carole, through some kind of blessed grandmother-magic, has convinced Amelia and Aidan to eat first.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” he says, placing a kiss on Amelia’s tangled bedhead. Kurt helps himself to some coffee, greeting Carole in a similar fashion. He can’t bring himself to eat at the moment, no matter how wonderful it all smells.

“Any word?” she says, hushed.

He doesn't shake his head or nod. He just stands there, a blank look on his face. Carole interprets it however she does and gets back to what she was doing.

They make their way through breakfast before the kids jump off their seats and into the living room. Amelia leads the way, Aidan toddling along behind her as fast as his stubby, little legs carry him.

The morning elapses in a frenzied blur of torn wrapping paper, cries of elation, and a rush of excitement that is solely unique to that of a child on Christmas morning. The kids are absolutely satisfied with what they’ve gotten, surrounded by their piles of toys from Santa. Kurt smiles and plays along, dutifully snapping pictures on his phone as the morning progresses. His phone rings, it’s the same New York area number that has been calling him since yesterday.

He ignores it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can feel Carole’s eyes on him. Kurt schools his expression into something more fitting for a family moment like this, and hopes that she didn’t see his face fall just a moment ago.

Even so, he makes sure that he’s with Amelia and Aidan as much as possible. They’re still riding high on Christmas and presents to ask too much about Blaine. An inch or so of fresh snow fell overnight, so Kurt had bundled them up and took them outside, helping them build a child-sized snowman, making a family of snow angels, doing all sorts of things that usually Blaine does in the snow with them.

But Kurt can’t avoid them all day.

The kids crash mid afternoon, exhausted from the day.

It’s Carole that finally brings it up, as they start organizing the living room since the kids have taken it over. They haven’t heard from Blaine in over a day, which, as she points out, meant he was actually missing to the point they could get the police involved.

_Holy shit_ , Kurt thinks when this hits him. Really hits him.

“We should see if we can file a missing person report with the NYPD,” Burt says. Kurt’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head once. No.

“We don’t need the police involved,” Kurt says firmly, not meeting either Burt or Carole’s eye.

Carole pats his back, in what she clearly thinks is a comforting way. Kurt tenses under her hands.  “Kurt, it’s okay to get help. We don’t have to do this all on our own.”

“We have help-” Kurt starts, feeling as if he’s being backed into a corner with all their questions today and yesterday. It’s not fair to either of them: they’ve been nothing but wonderful and helpful, but Kurt’s been holding it together for hours now and it’s really starting to wear him down and the dull pounding of a headache is creeping it’s way back into his head, and-

“C'mon bud,” Burt says, “I know you guys have it rough, but he could be anywhere right-”

“I know exactly where he is,” Kurt shouts, his words coming out much louder and harsher than the situation calls for. Burt and Carole stop what they were doing immediately.

Carole regains herself after his outburst first. “What do you mean?”

Of course they’ll need an explanation. He came to the house yesterday in a sour mood, and even though he asked his father not to tell Carole about their conversation, there was no way he was really going to keep if from his wife. Right now, they probably think Kurt’s assuming that Blaine is off somewhere in New York on his own having a grand old time, blowing off his family for something better.

“He’s sitting the hospital. All by himself. Back in New York.” The words fall from Kurt’s mouth of their own volition.

They watch him blankly.

“I got the call last night.”

Burt’s mouth falls open for just a moment, before recovering. “Seriously?” Kurt nods, finally. “They called you _yesterday_?” Kurt doesn’t feel thirty-one anymore. The way his father is talking to him makes him feel like he’s sixteen again, getting in trouble for missing his curfew. There’s a tear starting to form in his left eye, holding on, he can just barely feel his chin quiver.

His mind catches up to what’s happening. What is wrong with him? He’s going to cry because his dad is going to yell at him. His husband is sitting in a hospital bed, alone, and Kurt’s going to cry because he’s disappointed his father.

“Kurt!” Burt’s shout brings him back to the present, clearing the static from his ears.

“Huh?”

“What did they tell you?” Carole asks. Her tone is less harsh, comforting, almost. It’s funny in a way. She’s been Kurt’s stepmother longer than his own mother was alive, she’s certainly been the mother that he’s needed. But even after all these years, she can’t bring herself to yell at Kurt, even when he needs it. If she had been yelling at him, though, he’s pretty sure he would just curl up in the corner and cry until they stopped.

Words aren’t making sense right now. He’s answering questions on auto-pilot now. “Um, I don’t know. They left a message.”

“Just one?” Carole asks. She takes him by the hands and sits him down on the couch. He didn’t even realize that the room was spinning until he sat.

“No. A bunch.”

Burt snaps. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

In hindsight, Kurt understands his father’s aggression. Burt loves Blaine almost as much as he loves Kurt, and he is clearly concerned. He’s frustrated that Kurt’s been keeping this from them. Burt towers over his son, looking down at him and waiting for an answer.

“I don’t-” Kurt starts, stammering. “I don’t know? I don’t even know what happened to him to when it happened, I just know that something happened, and I don’t even know if he’s actually okay,” he goes on. “I just… I didn’t want to freak the kids out. We came all the way out here, and what if he’s dying, or just… I don’t know what to do.” He finally looks up at Burt, searching, pleading for his daddy to understand.

But Burt doesn’t have the answers either.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt finally gets back to New York on a red-eye flight, leaving the kids in his parent’s care, and getting back to the city just before rush hour. He doesn’t stop by the apartment, just moves automatically from one subway to the next and before he knows it, he’s inquiring about room numbers and making his way up several floors and down the winding hallways.

Kurt rounds the last corner, searching for the room number. Finally, he finds it. He takes a moment to take in the slightly closed door before quietly pushing it open.

It's a quiet, private room, tiny, so the bed takes up most of the space. There’s a little sitting area for family attached. Under different circumstances, Kurt would certainly find it to be a lovely little room, considering.

It's funny, he thinks, standing at the side of Blaine’s bed. It’s always said that you look smaller in a hospital bed, but for some reason that’s not the case here. Even Blaine's tiny body looks big in the bed.

Blaine's currently sleeping and appears... not dead to the world; that's a horrible thing to say. But he's out of it completely. He looks like he's aged significantly in the last couple of days since Kurt last saw him. It seems like a few more gray hairs have poked out at his temples. The lines in his face seem deeper, the bags under his eyes are new. He's pale, and his breaths come in little whispers. Various wires wind their way down the front of his gown to his chest and attach to the monitors that sit next to his bed.

The television is on in the background, but kurt can't hear it. All he can hear is the steady _beep... beep... beep..._ of those monitors.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, but eventually a nurse comes in. She’s on the young side, maybe only a few years younger than Kurt himself. She keeps her voice down as she greets him and checks Blaine’s bedside chart. She’s hesitant when Kurt asks to see Blaine’s doctor, biting her lip, not sure who the visitor before her is.

“Please,” he nearly begs. “I’m his husband.”

Finally, someone comes in. She's a petite thing, tired looking and hardly any older than Kurt and Blaine. Kurt can’t tell if doctors are getting younger and younger, or if he’s just getting older. She beckons Kurt into the attached sitting room, shutting the door silently behind them.

She introduces herself and explains that Blaine was admitted yesterday. He’d had a heart attack.

It was a textbook case, she assures him, but the fact that he was in his early thirties concerned her and her colleagues. Blaine was lucky that the ambulance came when it did. They were able to get him into surgery almost immediately. But that didn't mean that a good percentage of his heart hadn’t been damaged. A few minutes more and he might not have been so lucky.

She asks if Kurt has any questions. He's silent. His own heart has settled in the region of his stomach, which had dropped as suddenly as the doctor started explaining everything. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or vomit, or both, but it's a long time until he can bring himself to sit outside with Blaine again.

By mid morning, Blaine starts to stir. It takes a while, but when he finally realizes that Kurt is there, a small, tired smile brings some of the familiar light to his eyes. “I’m glad you made it.”

Kurt doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry I missed my flight.”

Nothing.

“And that I messed up Christmas.”

Still nothing.

“I know that things haven’t been easy for us lately, and I'm sorry. I really want to work at it, at _us_ , again,” Blaine says, earnestly. “I'm gonna be spending less time at work now, so-”

“The entire time I was in Ohio I was thinking about leaving you,” Kurt interrupts suddenly.

It’s a moment before Blaine responds, deflated. “Oh.”

“That’s it?” Kurt says, eyes narrowing. Blaine’s giving up entirely too easy. “ ‘Oh.’ Fantastic.” He knows he’s not being fair. But he just can’t stop himself.

“No. That's not it,” Blaine starts, trying to sit up a little straighter.  “I didn't realize you we're feeling so-”

“I just threatened you with a divorce and that's all you can muster?”

Blaine sighs. “Yeah. That's all I got right now, Kurt.”

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest. “I get that you're tired and drained and all that, but you can't even grow a backbone enough to tell me not to leave you?”

Blaine’s gaze drops down to his own lap.

“Typical. Typical Blaine,” says Kurt with a derisive laugh. “ Won't even fight for our marriage. Why are we even bothering anymore?” Mentally, Kurt is kicking himself. But in that sick, disgusting part of his brain that he can’t help or shut up, this is wonderful. Finally, he’s getting all his complaints, anger, insults, out on the table.

“What do you want me to do?” Blaine snaps, actually taking Kurt by surprise.  “Yell and scream? I can't. Because if I do, the stent they shoved into my artery with collapse and I’ll end up having another heart attack,” he says.  Kurt stands suddenly, the chair he previously occupied scooting out behind him with a scrape. His jaw is set, fists clenched. He needs out of this room. But he’s not going to be the one to walk out. His back is to Blaine, looking out the window and across the East River. It’s actually a really beautiful, winter day in the city.  

“Or is that what you want? You want to just make it easy? Gets me out of the picture that much faster,” Blaine states. “Because if that's the case you should just leave now. Run away.” Blaine flicks his wrist, gesturing out the door.

“Don't play that game with me. We’re not done here. You’re the one that’s always running away,” Kurt says. He’s vaguely aware that they are in a hospital, and that there’s a good chance that other people can hear them. He finds that he really doesn’t care.

“Well, what do you want me to say? To do? Get out of bed and throw myself at your feet? Say that if you leave me I’ll die? Because I probably will anyway,” Blaine says, preparing for Kurt to snap back, to come up with some harsh, biting, comeback. “But you already left me,” he finishes, quietly.

Kurt looks back to Blaine. “What do you mean?” He says slowly, actually not knowing where Blaine is going with this.

Blaine gives a humorless laugh. “Kurt, I'm not stupid. I know how long I've been here. I know that I was admitted Wednesday afternoon and you got a call. You got several calls telling you where I was. I know because I kept asking them to call you.

“I had to call an ambulance myself. I was all alone in the apartment. My arm went numb and my back was killing me and there was just this horrible sense of wrong. So I called. I sat in the apartment all by myself thinking "This is it. I'm going to die alone." Blaine’s slowed down his words, his story. He’s no longer trying to win this fight. He’s just stating the facts now. Kurt turns back to Blaine, all the way around. But Blaine’s not looking at him anymore.

“And then entire trip to the hospital I was so scared. I was frightened and alone and all I could think about was the last time we spoke and how I had said something horrible to you and that was going to be your last memory of me.” It’s like he’s lost in his own memory.

“So they called and called you because I needed to see you. I needed you here. I needed to say I'm sorry.

“But then you didn't show up,” Blaine finishes strongly, punctuating his words, staring right at Kurt, into his very soul the way that only Blaine can do.

“I'm here now,” Kurt says, measured, trying to tell Blaine without words that he’s here. It took a while for him to come around, but he’s here now and that’s what matters. right? It’s probably the first civil thing he’s said to his husband today. Perhaps in a long time, now that he thinks about it.

“Only because you're obligated,” says Blaine, flippantly. “Well, I don't want to be an obligation to you any more,” he says, sitting up once again, stronger, determined.

“So go home, Kurt. Go back to the apartment, get some sleep and call the realtor in the morning. You keep saying that I don't care. you know what? You’re right. I don’t care any more.”

Kurt drops his arms and takes a step closer to the bed. This can’t be it. “Blaine… I… you can’t mean-”

“Seriously,” Blaine cuts him off. “Please leave, Kurt.”

And he does. After a moment of standing there, silently begging, pleading, Kurt walks out the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

He goes back to their apartment across town. Kurt slips through the front door. The apartment is exactly as Blaine must have left it the other day, but there are obvious signs that other people had been here. The deadbolt was left unlocked. Really, they’re lucky that the paramedics closed the door. Knowing Blaine, he probably told them to close it.

There are still plates out on the counter from Blaine's last lunch. His luggage sits by the door, ready to go.

On the kitchen floor lays a shattered mug. Blaine's favorite mug, the puddle of coffee still sticky on the floor.

It hits Kurt like a ton of bricks. This is where it happened. This is where Blaine was so overwhelmed by unknown pain that his grip slipped and shattered on the floor.

That he called an ambulance for himself.

That he probably crawled over to the door to unlock it for the medics.

That he thought he would die right here on this floor.

Alone.

Kurt falls to the ground, and sits there, curled up on the floor and tries to imagine what it would be like if Blaine didn't have his cell phone on him.

If the ambulance hasn't showed up in time.

If Blaine had just died here on the floor.

How Kurt and the kids would come home days later to Blaine's lifeless body just laying there. The smell would be horrific and the sight would drive Kurt to madness. There’s no telling what it would do to the kids.

Just the thought of it being a possibility was enough for him to rush over to the kitchen sink and empty the contents of his stomach, tears finally flowing down his cheeks.

Kurt hates that despite the guilt and the fear, he’s still so god damn angry at Blaine. Something like this shouldn’t be a get out of jail free card. It’s just not fair to their marriage, it’s not fair to the kids, and it sure as hell isn’t fair to him. Kurt’s just going to be expected to wipe the slate clean and carry on like they don’t have year of problems weighing them down.

The absolute worst part is that he hates himself for thinking like that.

**

The kids stay back in Ohio for a few more days with grandma and grandpa while things settle into what is probably the new normal. Blaine stays in the hospital a few more days, leaving Kurt in the too big, too quiet apartment by himself.

They’re walking on eggshells around each other. They’ve been that way for a while now. But it’s different this time. Before, it was wondering when the next fight would be, when would one of their nerves just snap and all out war was waged for an evening. Now… Kurt’s not really sure how to describe it. Their last, long conversation ended so poorly. But Kurt’s trying now, even if Blaine has given up.

Or at least, Kurt just hopes that Blaine understands what he’s trying to do; he’s trying to be there for Blaine. To prove that he’s still in this for the long haul. Even though Blaine had all but dismissed Kurt from his life, Kurt returned later that day, Blaine’s overnight bag at hand, bearing cozy pajamas, toiletries, and some of Blaine’s favorite books.  

It had really hit him hard when he got back to the apartment alone. What if Blaine had died? What if, instead of calling his dad at night to give a daily report, he was forced to call all of their friends and family and had to organize a funeral? What if, instead of having the phone passed between Amelia and Aidan at night, he had to sit them down and explain how their Daddy had died?

He refuses to go down that mental road. He’d been there before, all those years ago when Finn had died just as suddenly and unexpectedly. It’s not going to be like that now.

Back, so long ago, when they had broken up during Kurt’s first year in New York, Blaine had never given up on Kurt, nor their love. Now, it was Kurt’s turn. Instead of thinking of the endless what ifs, he’s concentrating on the now.

There’s some progress between them by the time Blaine is released. He has visitors come and go, old friends and new friends alike, coming and going every day. Kurt is almost constantly at his side. When Sam comes by one afternoon, Kurt’s right there, letting Blaine clutch his arm for support, for the shuffling steps from the bed into the sitting room. Kurt learns as much as he can from the doctors, asking questions, looking for advice. He worries that it might be a little overkill, but Blaine can’t really hide the grateful little smile that crosses his lips whenever Kurt asks one of the nurses to explain everything to him again for the hundredth time.

Baby steps.

Now that Blaine is home, and so are the kids, Kurt really sees the brave face he's been putting on for everyone. And he still puts it on for his family.

When he left the hospital, he was outfitted with a monitor system that monitored his heart and sent updates to his doctors. The wires stuck to his chest, and the device hung over his shoulder on a strap. When Amelia first saw it hanging on his side, Blaine told her that it was his purse. Giggling, Amelia ran to her room to get one of her own little pink ones. She and Aidan laughed and called him silly, the seriousness of everything not known to the fullest extent, and maybe never would be.

Rachel pops by almost every day to check in on them. Blaine sits back with her on the couch, listening in rapt attention to the latest gossip from the stage, just as he had done for years, the energetic light seemingly renewed in his eyes.

No matter the brave face, Blaine can’t hide everything from Kurt, though. It's not like he could hide the fact he needed to follow a brand new diet; it’s not that Blaine ever really ate poorly in the past; he just needed to be incredibly careful now. Kurt would sometimes sit at the table in the morning when the kids had been sent off to school and day care, and help Blaine sort the new assortment of pills and vitamins that were his new daily cocktail. The endless list of doctor’s appointments are scribbled onto the calendar. Blaine smiles and says none of this bothers him.

But Kurt knows. He sees Blaine when he didn't think anyone was watching. The grimace as he swallows down the massive capsules. The moment of panic when his heart monitor beeps because it thought something was wrong. The listlessness that comes along with not being able to go outside or work.

He sees the days when Blaine crosses the floor from their room to the couch before collapsing onto the couch, out of breath because he truly wasn't strong enough to do the simplest tasks any more.

New Year’s Eve is spent with Blaine in bed by nine; even the kids are able to stay up later than he. Nights in college, and even recently, out with their friends, partying, drinking, ringing in the new year with heated kisses at midnight, were no more.

Despite all of that, the utter exhaustion, every night when Kurt gets home, there’s Blaine, some kind of dinner ready for Kurt and the kids, tiredness evident in his posture, in the strained way he speaks, in the way he can’t even bring himself to change into pajamas before bed anymore.

Kurt can’t take it anymore. He can feel himself bubbling just below the surface. He decides to head himself off before it got any worse and started a fight.

“We need to talk,” he says one night, after the kids have been tucked into bed. He says it calmly, trying to force his body language into something that is casual as opposed to looking and sounding like he’s gearing up for battle. Blaine turns his attention to Kurt from where he writes in a little journal his doctor suggest he keep. “You need to stop making dinner for us every night.”

There. He said it and it’s out there. No more bottling things up.

Blaine shrugs. “It’s really no big deal.”

Old Kurt might have cut him off there, interrupted with some kind of bitchy remark, demanding control of the conversation. New Kurt tries to keep his tone in check. “You’re wearing yourself out.”

“I need something to do,” Blaine says. He goes to finish writing his sentence, “something to keep me busy, you know?”

“But it's not good for you,” Kurt insists. It doesn’t help that Blaine can be just as stubborn as Kurt can. This conversation could easy start going around in circles if Kurt can’t get his point across soon.

“Kurt, if I spend anymore time on the couch, we’re never going to be able to get the imprint of my ass out of it,” Blaine jokes, trying to keep things light. If things are kept light, they can ignore the things that matter.

But this is serious. Kurt is serious.

“I don't need you having another heart attack on me.” Kurt tries to make it seem like just a passing comment, but he apparently fails miserably.

Blaine’s eyes narrow. His attention is pulled back up to Kurt. “Why? Am I too big of a burden for you?” He’s raising his voice, ready for a fight. “I'm not asking you to help me with any of this-”

“I don't need you having another one because if you do, and you die, I think I just might die too.” It’s so tacky sounding, even as he says it, but it’s the truth. Kurt’s had a lot of time in the past few days to really think about morbid things like that. What would he do without Blaine in his life? He’d wake up every morning in bed by himself, go to sleep at night alone, and live without the day-to-day excitement and joy that Blaine brings to him. He sits down at the table with Blaine, who is searching his face for answers. Frustrated tears are pooling in Kurt’s eyes and he goes to wipe them away with the back of his sleeve.

He starts his sentence and stops it before any words can make their way out. “Kurt, you-” all trace of malice and aggression seem to be gone. “The kids need you.”

“They need you too,” Kurt says, insisting. “I need you.”

It’s a moment before Blaine says anything. He finally reaches out, hesitating for a second before cupping Kurt’s face, gently brushing away a missed tear. “I need you too.”

They seem to have reached an impasse.

“Do you-” Blaine starts and stops. He sighs. “Should we talk about what you said in the hospital?”

Kurt blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to get a divorce? Do you still want-”

“Oh god, no. No, no, no,” Kurt says, grabbing Blaine’s hand, and holding on for dear life.

“Okay…. I guess there's that.” He lets himself smile a little bit. Seeing that smile, a good, genuine one, no matter how small, definitely counts as a win in Kurt’s book. “But you’re not staying with me because of this are you?” His words speed up just a bit, the last lingering, nagging worry has come to the light. “It's not like a pity thing? Because I promise I'll be okay-”

Kurt sighs. “No it's not a pity thing. It's never been a pity thing, Blaine. I want this to work between us.”

“I do too.”

“I think we have some problems. That we need to work out.”

Blaine nods, thumbs stroking along the backs of Kurt’s hands all the while. This is the most open and honest they’ve been in months. Maybe years. “Do you think we should see someone? Like a therapist. Marriage counselor?”

“A marriage counselor sounds like the first step to a divorce,” Kurt says.

“But it's not,” Blaine insists.

“Maybe we should think about seeing someone. Either together or separately.”

“I’d like that.”

It’s the first mature conversation they’ve had in forever that has nothing to do with bills, or the kid’s school, or anything other than just them.

“Thank you for making dinner.”

Blaine smiles, scootches his chair just a little closer to Kurt’s. “You’re welcome. You’ve been helping me so much, I just want to do something for you.”

“Just promise you'll take care of yourself,” says Kurt. And he knows Blaine will. Blaine’s thirty-one years old and has no plans of going anywhere anytime soon. But Kurt knows, and Blaine does too, that life is fragile. Make all the plans in the world, there’s no guarantee that they’ll happen.

Kurt clears his throat. If he’s airing all the dirty laundry now, he might as well do it all. “I never said it, but I'm sorry I left you at the hospital.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” Kurt says, firmly. “It’s really not.”

“You’re right. But I'll get over it,” Blaine says. A twinkle in his eye, he adds, “Maybe.”

“I thought wed've gotten better with this whole communication thing. Turns out we're just as bad as we were in high school.”

Blaine shakes his head. “It's just... Were adults now. Like real adults. Putting aside money for the kids when they go to college. Worrying about retirement-”

“Pretty sure you're the only one worrying about that,” Kurt cuts in, a smile finally gracing his lips.

Blaine barks out a laugh. “Well, one of us has to.”

Kurt chuckles, but turns serious. “It’s like we’re drifting apart. I don't want to drift away from you. I love you too much.”

Blaine leans in, hesitates for a moment, and finally brings his lips every so gently to the corner of Kurt's mouth. It's over before Kurt can actually respond, and Blaine moves to rest his head on Kurt's shoulder. It can’t be comfortable for him, but it’s been so damn long since there’s been any kind of intimacy between them, no matter how innocent. 

“I love you too.”

Kurt presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Nothing is solved, not really. There's a hope for the future, far down the road, but it's there. They're both at fault for the state of the marriage, but there's that little spark of a chance. They're not going to take this sitting down, not anymore, they're not going to stop fighting, but they'll stop fight against each other. They'll be fighting together for what each other. Kurt firmly believes that they are meant to be together. And maybe Blaine is right, and they had known one another in previous lives and had similar struggles, but came out the other side, stronger. Just because they’re meant to be, doesn’t mean that life is easy. He, both of them really, just needed a reminder that life is ever-changing and unpredictable.

 

 


End file.
